


endless fall

by heavensabove



Series: anika trevelyan & her circumstances [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:47:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24685588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavensabove/pseuds/heavensabove
Summary: (He has a warmth she wants,craves. She wants him to burn it into her so she never feels cold again.)The events of In Hushed Whispers trigger a change in feelings. A pre-relationship fic that's also a 'beginning of relationship' fic.
Relationships: Blackwall/Female Inquisitor, Blackwall/Female Trevelyan
Series: anika trevelyan & her circumstances [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1749697
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a drabble and then suddenly, it was 4500 words. So I cleaved it at some section that wouldn't be too jarring and made it two chapters. I hope that allows you to rest your eyes a bit :T

She falls back into her own time but it all feels different. There’s something wrong…or it’s not really, but it’s so foreign that it  _ feels _ wrong.

There in the prisons of Redcliffe’s castle, red lyrium sprouting out of the ground like evil hands clawing at you. Him, inside, strange and glowing. There’s so much pain in him, such disorientation, and she’s known him as a rock, a shield, incapable of being knocked down.

He dies for her. They all die for her, but his death means something…if not more, then else. It ties her up in knots inside, and when she and Dorian are spat back out of the rift, she looks at  _ him _ and feels her heart breaking.

* * *

Maybe it was all happening before, and she hadn’t known it. Like that fall that wasn’t, like his suggestive jokes that betrayed him as something much different than her first impression of him. Maybe she was observing him during fights and losing as he was winning.

So far she’s been friendly, perhaps a bit friendlier than she is with others but she had refused to attach a meaning to it. If she was eager to seek out Grey Warden artifacts, well, it’s because it  _ is _ a good cause.

And that shy, girlish tinge her demeanor takes on around him? He’s older, she’s showing him respect. That spark of pleasure that ran up her spine when she found him scaring off her admirers? It’s because she hates being accosted by men and he…

Is a man.

Anika lies awake in her bed thinking about Blackwall as a man. Staring up wide eyed at the ceiling, counting knicks and scratches and holes in the wood, and in her mind is,

_ His large hand, gripped tight around the handle of his sword. _

_ The ripple in his muscles as he fights; the way he’ll roll his shoulders and stretch his arms to relieve the tension afterward. _

_ His gruff voice, commanding in battle, cordial in conversation, mischievous in small and scattered moments. _

_ His eyes the color of a placid ocean, but sharp, flashing when he spots danger, darkening when in thought. _

_ Him _ \- he isn’t like other men she’s met and run away from. He has never overstepped his boundaries, treated her as less, tried to claim her as a trophy.

He is kind and courteous, respectful and chivalrous, like some prince on a steed in her grandmother’s generic fairytales. He has a warmth she wants,  _ craves _ . She wants him to burn it into her so she never feels cold again.

Anika’s fingers find her own bare skin and she gasps, looks down. She’s unbuttoned her tunic somehow, without realizing it. Sweat runs down from her neck in a perfect line, sliding between her breasts.

She catches it as it beads at the bottom, just above her stomach. She follows it back up with her finger, and presses into the hollow of her throat.

She knows nothing of men and she’s preferred it that way, from the moment she came into womanhood and they began to circle her like wolves who had spotted bleeding prey.

She wants to know Blackwall.

* * *

“I would never have guessed that you admire me!” She beams, chest and stomach aflutter.

“Of course I do. You have the world at your feet, myself included.” He smiles, and there’s a hundred different things about it, many secrets, a feeling that something’s being held back.

“I don’t deserve that kind of reverence.” She says earnestly.

“Modest, too! Your list of qualities continues to grow.” He straightens, smile shrinking but not disappearing, transforming into something darker and more intense. “Now, we should return to our duties before I get too…carried away.”

She swallows at the way his voice drops an octave on the last two words.

“You know…” She begins, not yet ready to let go. “You’re oddly charming for a man I found wandering the forest.”

His smile changes again, becoming incredulous. “I’ve always found myself more odd than charming…but I’ll take a compliment from a lady. They’re hard to come by these days.”

“Compliments or ladies?” She jokes, feeling slightly ridiculous.

He laughs, obviously caught off guard. “Both.” He composes himself, looks at her…fondly. “So, is there something large and heavy you need moved?”

She thinks of his strength, how slight she is compared to him. She would disappear in his arms, be engulfed completely.

“ _ That _ would be a waste of your particular talents.”

“Oh, really?” He leans forward the tiniest bit.

“You’re much better suited to standing in front of dragons while they try to eat you.”

His eyes widen slightly, incredulity creeping back into his expression. She stifles a laugh, feeling the tension slowly bleed out of the air.

“I still feel terrible about the whole incident with the Frostback, but honestly, it was quite funny.” She grins. “The next time we go into that valley, we’ll be better prepared. And I  _ will _ avenge you.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “I have to say, my lady, you’re unlike any woman I’ve ever met. I…” He looks away, flustered. “…enjoy your company. I’m flattered you’d want to spend any time with me.”

* * *

For days afterward, Anika doesn’t know how to feel about the conversation. She’s never been fond of flirting, and seeing others do it had struck her as risible, childish. There was something inane about it all, far from sensual.

But the interaction’s changed things, fleshed out what was inchoate, solidified what was faint. Now when she lies awake, she feels that at some distance near or far he’s doing the same, thinking the same thoughts, counting scratches in a wooden ceiling or tears in a tent’s fabric just as she is.

It spurs her to do things, to find an excuse to talk to him whenever she visits the blacksmith, inviting him to stand with her and observe the creation of new equipment. Then she begins to bypass the blacksmith’s altogether, going only to spend time with him.

He seems perpetually surprised, smiling in a way that indicates happiness but also a sort of disbelief. And he seems to become fidgety at certain levels of proximity, so she does maintain a decent amount of physical distance.

It makes her wonder until she wears her casual clothes one day, having chosen to forgo venturing out at Solas’ suggestion, and she notices how his eyes seem to trace her curves, the shape of her breasts.

What if she gets closer? That day, she brings him a plate of fruit and cheeses and insists he share them with her. They go into Harritt’s cabin and sit on a bench and she deliberately presses her arm against his. He flushes, the ruddiness of his complexion intensifying.

She watches him, and he watches her back. She takes a grape and pops it between her lips. His throat works, his fingers hovering over the plate’s contents.

She smiles. “Try them.” She picks up a grape and holds it out for him.

His hands stay where they are. Instead, he moves in and takes the grape with his teeth, eyes on level with hers, his lips lightly brushing her fingertips.

She kills the gasp that threatens to spill out of her, biting down hard on her lower lip. He chews close-mouthed, slow, savoring the taste, and smirks.

“It’s very sweet.” He says.

She stares at him awhile before taking another grape and bringing it to her lips, making sure her fingertips touch them as she puts it in her mouth. “It is.”

* * *

Anika politely lowers her eyes as she passes the tavern. The couple pressed up against its outer wall are barely fazed, too jovially lost in one another to care about being discovered.

Vigorous sounds of celebration surround her as she walks along the upper level, stopping as she reaches the center of them. People are dancing, drinking, laughing. The sky above them is quiet and serene, seamless and cloudy.

Almost like an arrow to a target her eyes hone in on Blackwall, smiling and drinking with Harritt, who for once looks uninhibited. Blackwall himself is more relaxed than usual, posture less rigid, one foot tapping to the raucous music.

Anika looks down and worries her lip. Everyone has thrown off their reigns for tonight, full of newfound zest. There’s a strange gnawing in her stomach, her whole body thrumming and her head buzzing even though she’s drunk little.

If she reaches out to him now, will he…push her away? Will he be surprised or angry? Or delighted? Will he take her by the hand and lead her to some wall, or to his quarters or hers?

She wonders what it will feel like to kiss him. His beard will probably scratch against her face. He’ll take her waist like he did that time he caught her and like then, his hands will be heavy and their grip will be tight. What do they feel like, without the gloves?

If she unbuttoned her tunic, would he trace the path that drop of sweat had taken? Would he be less subtle, push it all aside to find the breasts that interest him so much through her clothing? Would he use lips to map them like he had with his eyes?

Anika wants to go down the steps and go to him and find out. The bulk of her duty is over and nothing is there to tether her to this place. Cassandra will probably lead soon, find who murdered the Divine and make him pay.

Under the mended sky, she could travel with him, helping him help others, sealing rifts wherever she finds them. She doesn’t want to return home to a life of invisible drudgery, though she loves her family and they’ll miss her and she them. She has found a space in life that isn’t the wrong shape for her.

If she tells him what she wants and feels, there’s a chance he’ll rebuke her, but there’s also a chance that she’ll wake up next to him every morning, feel his breath on her skin, his lips on her forehead. She knows he wants that future, too; the question is whether he’ll let himself have it.

She lingers where she stands, feet stuck to the ground.

Cassandra walks up before she can think more on her hesitation. She’s drawn into the conversation quickly, heartened by the friendliness that’s dissolved any remnants of tension between them.

And then bells start tolling. Cullen storms in, yelling about an army, commanding his soldiers to arm themselves. People panic, drop their drinks. The couple run past her, clinging to each other in fear. She sees Blackwall, grimfaced, head to his quarters for his armor and weapons.

The sky is whole but on earth, Haven is rended.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next few days, the pieces of her life are arranged. The flicker of hope that erupts into an inferno, the battered but resolute structure that’ll be her new home; the title, and the responsibilities and expectations it brings on her.

After another day of wandering around, forcing herself to get used to it all, she plucks up the courage to talk to him.

Then they’re on the battlements, the wind in their hair, the magnificent view stretching out before them. It’s his satisfaction that she notices more than the mountains or the skies.

“We’ll be able to see Corypheus coming from miles away.”

“On the other hand, that means he can see  _ us _ from miles away.”

He turns to her, the lightness in his mood dissipating. “Let him come. I swear I’ll take that twisted bastard down, even if I have to die to do it.”

He can’t talk of death like that, so casually, not when he’s already died in front of her and she felt so hollowed out, like something had been snatched from her and even coming back hadn’t made her feel entirely full again.

“Maker forbid.” She blurts out before his sentence has faded. She blinks, pauses, embarrassed at the outburst, at how his eyes widen. “I’m not losing anyone to Corypheus, especially not you.”

His face falls. Shouldn’t he be happy? She feels irrationally angry, a slight curling heat in her stomach.

He pushes her away with his next words. And the ones after that, and the ones after those. Nothing she says makes him reconsider, though she sees him straining against his skin, as if he needs to jump out of it but is forcing himself to stay.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

* * *

That night, she stews in her bed amid the debris not yet cleared from her quarters.

She had expected that she would be able to accept his rejection, that it would hurt but she’d swallow the hurt and move on. But she no longer has a life away from him. She leads the cause he’s dedicated himself to.

Staying together, always so close, fighting side by side and in camps sleeping barely feet away, and she is to ignore the way he lights her on fire?

If he didn’t want her, it’d be simpler. She’s never wanted anyone before, and she would train herself to be like that again, dedicate herself to all her new, infinitely complicated tasks.

But he looks at her like he wants to breathe her in. Like the only joy he wishes for is tucked away somewhere inside her and he wants to cross the space between them and bury himself deep within.

It’s maddening, that he looks so tortured when he denies himself of her. It makes her want him more.

* * *

“If you think I’m just going to give up and walk away, you’re wrong.” She says to him the next time they really speak. She means it with everything in her, and she sees that change in his eyes that alters their color.

It’s a lot like the color of the seas in the Storm Coast, she thinks, as they walk in near silence together through the rocks and shrubbery there. She’s never seen him this haunted before, so sorrowful.

They reach a spot where a battle has obviously been waged. Her gaze lingers on a pitiful skeleton, an arrow through its eye, as he tells her about the companion he couldn’t save.

Then she finds something glinting amid the muck on the ground.

He seems stunned by it, crouching to pick it up but hesitating before he does. He rights himself and looks at it in a way that speaks more of pain than pride.

“The Warden-Constable’s badge.”

She can’t bear to see him like that, so she gently teases him. “You must’ve lost it in the battle. How careless.”

“How careless indeed.” He says, sounding not the least bit mollified. “After all, I did earn it. I shouldn’t have let it go so easily.” His voice trembles as he says this, as if he doesn’t believe it.

Why is he always so hard on himself? Her heart tightens in a strange sort of pain.

“This was my life before I met you. Crumbling ruins. Endless battles. Death.”

“Isn’t that my life, too?” She says with a slight smile. “Doesn’t that mean we can…that we can face it all together?”

He laughs, a soft sound almost lost to the coast’s cacophony. “You don’t need me to face anything. You alone are worth a million of me.”

“No. I need you more than I need anything.”

He looks so fragile when he turns to her that she almost loses herself, almost throws her arms around him so he won’t…break.

“I’m sorry.” He says, and she doesn’t understand what for. “We should return to Skyhold. I need to—think.”

They say nothing more as they walk back to camp. The air feels heavier and lighter all at once. Anika realizes that he hasn’t explained anything to her, not really, that all this trip has done is make him more esoteric.

She burns with questions but keeps them all in; something about his demeanor tells her he won’t survive them.

* * *

Days pass and obligations keep pouring in from all corners of Thedas. Anika is practically buried under a fresh pile of papers everyday, her mind growing numb as she goes through them.

It’s at the end of one of these days that she decides to walk around her quarters and stretch her atrophied limbs. She’s tired and bleary-eyed, and doesn’t notice when someone comes up the stairs.

When she turns, she finds Blackwall leaning against the archway to her balcony.

Immediately, her heart jumps into her throat. This is the first time he’s ever come up here. It’s so late in the evening, and what could he have possibly come for, other than…

She smirks. “I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

He drops his head with a frustrated sigh. “No, I couldn’t. If only you knew how confounding you are, how impossibly infuriating.” He begins to move towards her. “I wanted to thank you for accompanying me to that ruin. I wanted to…”

He’s close now, so close, like she’s only ever dreamed of him being. “I just had to see you.” He says before he erases the last bit of distance between them.

Anika has kissed only one man before, an awkward, close-mouthed kiss after a dance at a ball that had her rushing into some corner to wipe her lips on her sleeve.

Or maybe that wasn’t a kiss at all, so this is the first time she’s ever kissing a man. Blackwall’s lips are soft and warm, and his beard irritates her skin less than she expected; it actually feels pleasant.

But before she can truly surrender herself to the sensations, he pulls away. She clutches his gambeson, unwilling to let him leave her completely.

“No, this is wrong. I shouldn’t even be here.”

“What’s the matter?” She whispers shakily. “A vow of celibacy? A dead wife?”

He looks utterly confused. She’s surprised herself that she can still joke.

“No, nothing like that.”

“Then?”

“I’m not what you want.”

“ _ I _ decide what I want. I want you.”

He shakes his head. “I could never be what you deserve.”

She pulls at him, frustrated at how solid and immovable he is. “I decide what I deserve, too.”

“Be reasonable.” He says gruffly. “I’m not good enough for you.”

“You’re wrong.” She whispers. “You’re a good man.”

He looks at her, stricken. “Am I?”

She thinks of him in the wilderness, fighting to the death for people he doesn’t know. Throwing himself in front of her and their friends during battles. Of his passion for their cause, how his ideals lift her up and make her want to do better, be better.

“I see it.”

He seems to consider her words, like he’s going to believe them. But he draws back. “There’s nothing I can offer you. You’d have no life with me.” He continues before she can point out that she has no life without him now, anyway. “But I…I need you to end this, because I can’t.”

She stares at him for a long time, feeling light and jubilant. She smiles.

“I’m not letting you go.”

Her victory fills the space around them. She sees the fight leave him as he leans in as if pulled by an invisible force.

“We’ll regret this, my lady.” He says, the words brushing her lips.

Regret. She doesn’t know what to do with that anymore. Does she have time for such things? She barely has time to allow herself this small measure of joy.

It’s too useless to mull over, so she kisses him.

“Do you regret that?”

She’s unprepared for the next moment, when his restraint splinters into little pieces and he’s on her, relentless, eager, forceful.

They stumble back and are saved by the balustrade, her arms flailing to find purchase but all they find is him, hard and strong and, just as she had imagined what seems like a lifetime ago, she’s been engulfed by him, disappeared in his embrace.

It takes a long time for them to part, not until their lungs are screaming for a sip of air. She stares at him in wonder as he breathes, at his disheveled, uncontrolled appearance. This is a private world now, one that’s come into existence between just him and her.

She presses a kiss against his cheek and nuzzles him, eager for more intimacy. His hands stroke down her back and she gasps when they drop further to squeeze her buttocks. He chuckles.

She’s ready to take this all the way to its logical conclusion. This is what’s supposed to happen, like in the worn pages of mortifying romances that her sister hides under the bed skirt.

So she presses up against him and veers back to his lips, grabbing his face and dragging one leg up the side of his. She begins to push away from the balustrade, nudging him towards her bed.

He puts his hands on her shoulder and stops her. “My lady…” He says. The conflict has returned, etched into the lines of his face.

“What’s the matter?”

“Are you sure?”

Anika’s body thrums, restless. “Yes.”

“I couldn’t help but…feel that you’re not very familiar with…” He stutters, and then shakes his head. “I’m sorry for being so crass.”

She blinks. “You’re not being crass. You’re right.”

“You’re…younger than me. I wouldn’t mean to presume…I honestly don’t know if the men in your past—”

“There are no men in my past.”

He gapes. “Truly?”

She shrugs. “Yes. I’ve never fallen in love and I’m not keen on purely physical relationships.” She smiles at him crookedly. “You’re the first person I’ve ever wanted like this. I trust you and feel safe with you, and I…you’re in my heart like no one else ever has been.”

He looks away, face crumpling suddenly. She tries to touch his shoulder but he stills her hand.

“I don’t deserve that.” He says in a strangled voice. “You…I’m not worthy of this.”

“Of what?”

“Of any of this. Your love, your trust, your…” He hesitates. “Maker. How do I say it?”

“You’re not worthy of deflowering me? Is that what you’re trying to say?” She wrinkles her nose.

His cheeks redden. “Well, yes.”

“That’s ridiculous.” She sighs.

“You shouldn’t be giving something that precious to  _ me _ .”

“ _ Precious _ ? Do you think I’m safeguarding a treasure?”

“You don’t know how many bastards out there would fight and die for this privilege.”

“Ugh. That is incredibly strange.”

He shakes his head. “You’re being too cavalier, my lady.”

“I’m not. I just hate the insinuation that I’m giving something away or you’ll be ‘taking’ something from me.” She reaches out to cup his face. “It  _ is _ important and precious, but that’s because it’s something intimate, a moment I’m going to share with someone I care about so deeply.”

He stares at her. “That’s how you see it?”

“Yes, and I hope you can see it that way too.”

“It’s me you want?” He asks, eyes dark and full of anguish. “You’ve made up your mind?”

She cocks her head, exasperated. “Of course not. In fact, I’m still torn between you and Seggrit.”

A sudden bark of laughter escapes him. “You’re truly incorrigible.”

“Would you have me any other way?” She smiles sweetly, leaning in.

He allows her to kiss him, but stops and gently pries her away before it intensifies. “I know you’re ready, but I…I need time.”

“Why? It’s not  _ your _ first time.”

He laughs. “No, unfortunately. Or fortunately, I don’t know. But it has been a while and I…I’m afraid of hurting you.” He presses his lips to her forehead. Her heart jumps. “I’d like to take things slow. Is that okay?”

She swallows. “Okay. I mean, yes. I mean, slow. Slow is…slow.”

“Yes. It is.”

“But you know, it’s steady. And it’s careful.” She sighs, grabbing his collar and bringing him in for a hard kiss. “I want to be reckless.” She breathes.

“Don’t be.” He murmurs. “You cannot afford to be.” But he keeps stroking her face and palming her ass.

“If you really want this slow thing, you had better leave.” She whispers.

He blinks. “Yes. Yes, I should.” He moves fast, leaving her alone and trembling as he stomps down the stairs. She nearly turns and follows him, but grips the railing. The door to her quarters opens and closes.

She sinks into a heap and buries her face against her pressed-together thighs.

That night she lays on her back, her thin nightclothes sticking to her skin, and stares up at the stone ceiling, counting the ridges and cracks, her fingers swirling patterns on her breasts and stomach.

She knows Blackwall is awake now, staring up at the rafters. Is he touching himself too while he thinks of her? She shivers at the image.

* * *

“So did you hear?”

“I  _ did _ .”

“Ser Blackwall, the Grey Warden—”

“The guard saw him leaving… _ her _ room. At night.”

“What do you think happened?”

“What else happens at such a time?”

“What a strange pairing…Do you think—oh, my word.”

“Inquisitor!” the Orlesian noblewoman squeaks, gracefully moving aside and bowing.

“Your Worship.” her Fereldan counterpart inclines her head respectfully. Both of them look extremely flustered.

Anika nods to them, pretending she hadn’t just heard the entirety of their chatter. She walks past them and down the hall. Varric, standing by the fireplace and elbow deep in papers as usual, smirks as she passes him.

“Anything you wanted to say, Varric?” She stops, brow raised.

“Oh, nothing at all.” He replies, still smirking.

Anika purses her lips and continues out the door, thinking that the gossipy hens in Skyhold could give Leliana’s pigeons a run for their gold.

She descends the stairs and heads toward the merchants. When she arrives at Bonny Sims’ stall, she sees him.

Blackwall stops mid-turn, framed by the barn’s doorway. She fidgets as she purchases her runestone, attention wandering to him again and again.

“Will there be anything else, Your Worship?”

“No, thank you.” Anika mumbles. As Bonny Sims begins arranging display items again, she turns to leave. She looks at Blackwall one more time and sees him smirk before he walks back in.

A sudden urge rises up in her and, before she can stop it, takes her over. She changes direction and reaches the barn at a brisk pace.

“Blackwall.”

He starts to turn. “Your wish, my–”

She grabs his shoulder and pulls him in, kissing him deeply. Her arms wind around his neck, putting the runestone at risk but she doesn’t care. His hands curl around her waist, the initial surprise giving way to eagerness.

Someone outside gasps. Someone else giggles.

Neither Anika nor Blackwall stop to give a damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At some point, in the hall in the throne room, you'll hear a couple of nobles talking about a 'strange pairing', or something to that effect. It _could_ be related to the Alliances mission but on both my playthroughs, it's happened after I got the romance started, so I like to assume they're gossiping about the Inquisitor's steamy love life :) Anyway, thank you for reading and hope you enjoyed this, even if it's so overwritten.


End file.
